Amorphous
by Dreadful Oblivion
Summary: A look into Ichigo's mind during those seventeen months. A journey in itself, really. Ichiruki oneshot. Cause who doesn't need Rukia?


**Amorphous  
** əˈmɔːfəs

 _adjective_

without a clearly defined shape or form;

lacking a clear structure or focus

* * *

 **The routine commences.**

* * *

He walks down the streets of Karakura town, his bang slung over his shoulder. His mind wanders in a hundred different directions, each thought not finding a residence in his mind for more than two seconds. He thinks about the new ham burger at their school cafeteria, slightly spicy for his taste. He remembers about the explosion over by the Karakura aquarium, thankfully no one was hurt. He sees yellow flowers by the river as he goes on.

There's also a lot of juice boxes in the cafeteria, but he doesn't think about that.

The explosion might have been caused by a hollow, but he doesn't think about that.

There are violet flowers too, but he doesn't think about that.

 _No_. He will _not_ think about that. He will _not_ think about her. He refuses to. He doesn't want to remember... that petite girl who once sat on his shoulders. The one who gave him the power to protect. The one who changed his entire meani-

 **STOP**.

 _He can't ._

He shakes his head as he wills himself to move forward. He had relinquished all rights to live that life. He could not, _must_ not, try to relive that.

He would fall.

He marches on in a daze. Is he going to school? He must be. That's how it is, everyday. He doesn't care. It's not that school is a burden, he's just not particularly excited about it anymore. He's still trying for a rank 23, but 'What's the use?' he thinks. He hasn't thought about what he's going to do. It's not a doctor, certainly. He won't walk around donning white clothes of irony, a constant reminder of what _isn't_ , rather than what is. He had a little interest in English literature, but love stories Of Shakespeare somehow don't hold the same interest for him. Nothing does.

It has become almost a second nature for him; forgetting, breathing, _existing_. The thought scares him, the possibility that his entire life will be exhausted in this constant, monotonous manner. Drifting, floating, never quite fitting in.

Because since _then_ , his body has started to feel more alien. It always had, but when he had his powers, his Zangetsu, _her_ , he felt as if he finally had someplace he could belong. But now his body clings to his soul like a snake skin. His soul is itching to shed it, to break free. Everyday, _every fucking day_ , he wakes up; in a body that is not his, wears clothes that are not his, goes to a school that is not his, lives a life that is not his.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, **_WRONG_**.

How dare he try to fit in? When the _world_ he's living in, is not his.

'But isn't it easier this way?' A tiny, infinitesimally small part of his brain wonders. Not allowing himself to feel, is much better than the pain the memories would bring with themselves.

* * *

 **The routine continues.**

* * *

His conscious mind doesn't register the fact that he's reached his school. His legs move of their own accord as he watches the building grow closer. He sets his trademark scowl on his face and drains his eyes out of all emotions.  
He steps inside the school. It's the same as before, nothing has changed. He punches Keigo in the face, high-fives Mizuiro. Mizuiro is talking on the phone with presumably his new college-going girlfriend; a fact Ichigo kindly ignores. He walks a little further through the yellow corridors. There are some people he recognizes, like that Kudou from the soccer team, and that Hattori, who tried to bribe him into joining their baseball team the last week, because he's so "cool" and "fast". Ignorant people. And then there are people he doesn't recognize, but that's okay. He's never been good at remembering faces. He nods to Chado and very highly efficiently ignores _that sewing freak._ His gaze falls over to Tatsuki, did she do something different with her hair? He doesn't notice. He sees Inoue as she waves to him animatedly.

He chats with them. Inoue changed her wannabe profession again, this time a taxi driver. Keigo proposed to Mouri from 3-1. Chado smiles. A little of this, a little of that really. Nothing too heavy, conveniently. Just enough that Ichigo can _hmm_ and nod and comment _baka_ at the right time. A silent moment lingers in the air; just then, the rough sliding of the class door announces Ochi-sensei's arrival and class starts soon.

He takes out his book, and ruffles through the pages. He's bored. He's always just so bored, nothing in this world remains exciting enough to satisfy him. Sensei's speech goes over the top of his head. But even after all this time, he does not feel it, the chair beside him, where _she_ used to sit once but now it's occupied by what's-his-name. He tries to ignore it, pretend it's not there. He surprises himself by being so successful. But it's a habit, it comes as naturally to him as breathing. Black swallowtail butterflies, snow, rabbits, ravens, flowers. These are nothing but reminders of another life, another world. A world he's forbidden to visit. A life he's not allowed to remember, but terrified to forget.

Nothing more.

School is over quickly. Ichigo decides to take up Hattori on his offer, he needs the money anyway. The practice isn't exhausting, not for him. He's used to running around. A couple home runs later and after a _whole lot_ of cursing at the team he bids good bye and makes his way home.

He's thinking of helping out the soccer team at Karin's school, when he gets to _that_ river. He does not stop. He does not take a deep breath. He does not allow his mind to cast back into the past. He only walks forward.

'It's the twins' birthday next month anyway. I'll get Yuzu an apron'

* * *

 **The routine never ends**

* * *

Ichigo reaches home around 6 in the evening. He passes his _oyaji_ and his sisters, Yuzu is preparing dinner. As he makes his way up the stairs to his room, the sound of his sisters' bickering fills his ears, "Karin-chan! Help me with the dinner" and then, "Just a sec, Yuzu! The guys will make fun of me if I don't finish this level!"

This is familiar, comforting. This is what he is used to hearing, and he's glad nothing has changed. He sits his bag on his desk, and takes out his Maths homework. He really has to catch up, once upon a time he was rank 23. Not to mention seeing that _smug bastard's_ smirk every time makes him want to pull his _nakama's_ ribs out, one by one. He jumps when Yuzu's scream for dinner implodes his ears. He didn't realise when an hour already passed by, it must have gone when he was so busy pulling his hair out in frustration.

Ichigo sits down to eat. Just like before, this is one part of his life that didn't suffer a change. Because all day he had to pretend that everything is normal, that he is not screaming inside, but right now is when he has been awarded his little moment of freedom. He can smile at his _oyaji's_ stupidity, chide his little sisters. This moment is not tainted. This moment is only him, and his family; when he _himself_ can almost believe that nothing ever's really changed. That he's not broken, he's not damaged. He's still the same.

He feasts on the moment, like a thin, bony child who hasn't eaten for days. But then the night comes, which Ichigo tries to delay as long as he can, but everyday, it is him who has to bow down his head to time. He tries to stretch his bath, he really does, but at one point, you just run out of body parts to apply soap to. He cleans up his room, listens to music. He tries to study again; distracts himself with the _tap-tap-tap_ of his pencil, but for how long? Ichigo is so, so very desparate to will himself to ignore the dark, to surpass what is to come.

But he knows that he can't ever win.

He finally resigns, and switches off the light. He's almost running to his bed, he wants to sleep; but he feels. _Oh, he feels._

He feels the ghost of his closet, staring at him, begging him to open it. To see what he longs to see inside. _Her._ Her soft, pale, flowery skin. Her icy eyes. Her ever so soft lips. How much did he have to restrain himself from climbing up here, when she lived!

For it is in these moments, that he's at his most vulnerable, most sensitive. When he can feel himself slipping, giving in; knowing that there is nothing ahead, but only abysmal darkness and despair. Because there is nothing here, he is absolutely alone. Only him and his feelings. The dark night, and that empty closet, it's just so... empty. And it's emptiness makes it more clear to him than ever, how he is lying in solitude.

The plainness of the world terrifies him to his bones. Is this how the world will always be? Unchanging, unvarying... just so still! His life has just emptied all the colours. He's is lost in a never-ending maze. The feeling eats away at him, it cripples him. All he wants to do is scream into the stars, but he can't even move, he can't even breathe.

With shaky legs, he gets up again. He sighs; for again, he lost. His fingers feel the wall for the switch of a small lamp, and then he finally succumbs to his sleep.

It is _his_ Pandora's box, and he has vowed never to open it.

* * *

 **The routine commences.**

* * *

He walks down the streets of Karakura town, his bang slung over his shoulder. His mind wanders in a hundred different directions, each thought not finding a residence in his mind for more than two seconds.

* * *

 **Constructive criticism is always welcome. Please review, it doesn't hurt to help a fellow writer improve. Remember, you don't even need an account to leave a comment.  
Please tell me if it feels a little rushed.**

 **I'd like to thank my 20 reviewers, most especially Keira-14. I don't know if you're reading this, but I love you (not that way) :***


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